


Perfect

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-17
Updated: 1999-10-17
Packaged: 2018-11-10 10:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11125281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived atDue South Archive. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDue South Archive collection profile.





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Perfect, by Te

Perfect  
by Te  
August-September 1999  
  
Disclaimers: They don't belong to me. They'd   
be fat, happy and satisfied if they belonged to  
me. I swear.

Spoilers: Not a single one.

Summary: One night in a hotel room.

Ratings Note: NC-17 for language and smut.

Author's Note: A dream I had, sort of.

Acknowledgments: To Dawn Sharon and torch   
for audiencing, encouragement, and general   
sexiness.

Archivist's note: may disturb, caveat lector.

*  
clothes make the man, but they make you more of a martyr  
then i look at you and i see something else that i'm after  
\-- some "really, really old 80's song," as quoted by torch  
*

Daddy793: In other dreams, Fraser and Ray   
wound up in Vegas for some reason.  
Aurorarowa: Because all good American dreams  
visit Vegas sooner or later.  
Daddy793: Hee! I supposed it just *had* to   
happen.  
Daddy793: Tipsy Ray does his sleepy damnedest  
to seduce Fraser. Poker chips are scattered,   
something is glittering in the distance, Ray is   
wearing suspenders for once...  
Aurorarowa:  
Daddy793: Ray is plucking at the buttons of   
Fraser's tuxedo shirt, swaying on his feet.  
Daddy793: Fraser is not stopping him, not   
doing much of anything. Sort of *lurking* behind   
his own eyes, but Ray doesn't see, is all unwitting.  
Aurorarowa: and  
oooh, yeah, that's what Fraser would be doing,   
and even sober Ray would just be noticing that he  
wasn't stopping him...  
Daddy793: "See, I think we shoulda done this   
weeks ago. Months.  
  


"The sex thing, that is. I think you're... you've been in my dreams, Frase. Hot dreams. Do you dream?" 

Ray's hand finally got in past the buttons, splayed itself across the warm and slightly damp expanse of t-shirt. 

"Fraser, please..." 

"Please what, Ray?" 

So calm, even. Ray shuddered, stilled his hand but didn't take it back. "Do you dream?" 

"Ray --" 

"It's a yes or no question, Frase. No Rays about it. Do you *dream*?" 

"Everyone dreams. There are five accepted stages of sleep -- many cultures would dispute that, but --" 

"Oh, Christ, why can't you just stop me?" 

"REM -- Rapid Eye Movement -- REM sleep is where our dreams take place, and dreams are thought to be, in some schools of thought, nothing but the subconscious' method of *thinking*, of putting together the day's input..." 

Ray wasn't sure what he was feeling. The stunned sort of disbelief had dampened his arousal, the pain... the pain. He started laughing. Fraser kept talking and Ray laughed and laughed. 

And then he ripped the other man's shirt open, nearly bit his own lip at the sound of rich cloth tearing. And breathed. 

And did not look into Fraser's eyes. 

"Say no." 

"I..." 

"Say no." 

"Ray, we can --" 

Ray ripped the t-shirt untucked and dipped his head until he could circle one not-dark-enough nipple with his tongue. 

The muscle just beneath the hot, creamy skin jumped and twitched but Fraser was silent. Ray pressed closer, pressed a kiss to and around the hardening little peak and sucked. 

Quiet gasp and he wasn't sure what game he was playing but... was there a point, here? Should he stop? 

Ray compromised himself, for himself, bit down gently and then tore himself away before he could see what sort of reaction that triggered. 

"Say no, Fraser. I'll stop if you say no." 

And this time he forced himself to look directly into wide blue eyes and wait. To watch the flush creep over the perfect skin. Fraser was angry, but so still... 

"Say no or tell me what you want." 

And it seemed magnanimous to his own ears, terribly reasonable. The sort of moment that -- at any other time -- Ray would use to look over at his partner, his friend, and carefully not say 'see how good I am?' 

"Why are you doing this?" 

Ray barked another laugh. "I thought that was pretty obvious, there, Frase." 

"It's not sex anymore." 

"Don't fucking kid yourself --" 

"Can you honestly tell me you don't want to hurt me right now?" 

Ray stepped close and... stood. Breathed the other man's air. Felt himself shaking and wanted to... wanted to... "Fraser, I *need* you." 

And that wasn't what he wanted to say, not at all, but it was out and he met the other man's eyes again. And waited. 

"It can often be difficult to discern the difference between want and need." 

"You're priceless. Absolutely priceless." 

"Ray, I'm being serious --" 

"I *know* you're being fucking serious you *god*damn *prick*." 

"There's no need to resort to --" 

Ray cut Fraser off by palming his cock through the expensive twill. "Yeah, Frase, I want to hurt you." 

Dry swallow. "That's not the best foundation for a relationship, Ray." 

"No, it isn't. But you're rock hard, and you're full of shit, and you can't even say *no* --" 

"No." 

"Too late." And Ray dove in for a kiss and Fraser didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't respond... so Ray just breathed through his nose and kept kissing. Began a short, unsubtle rocking motion with his hand. 

Pressed himself closer and licked at the roof of the other man's mouth, creating what he knew would be a maddening, tickling itch. Still no motion, but... it wasn't OK. It wasn't OK but it was what he was getting so it would fucking well *be* OK. 

From Fraser, nothing. 

Creep of something dark, nasty in his belly. Sexual harassment. Rape. Necro-lite. 

Heh. 

In his own time, Ray broke the kiss with a wet, messy smacking noise. Kept working his hand at the thickness just two layers of cloth away. Hot, definitely hot under his hand and yet... not as hot as it could've been. 

"You're pretty good at biofeedback, I bet." 

"Well, I've studied it for... years, Ray." 

He'd stopped working his hand and earned a moment's hesitation. His mind provided an image of Fraser's body leaning in towards him, but he knew that wasn't real. 

"What happens when you stop?" 

"Stop what?" 

"Feedin' yourself. Staying calm and cool and in control." 

"There's never any excuse --" 

"Do you want me to hurt you?" 

Sharp intake of breath. "Are you threatening me, Ray?" The edge of disappointment was perfect, just perfect. 

"Nope. I'm asking you a yes or no question, Frase. Though I'm beginning to think you don't have the easiest time answering those." 

"Just because a conversation does not proceed in the manner you wish it to is no reason to assume that the other person is incapable of --" 

"Oh, I know yer capable. Couldn't feed yourself out of a hard-on, could ya?" 

"The human body contains billions of nerve-endings. Their job is to respond to stimuli, and as I am a healthy and relatively young person they do their job quite well. You really shouldn't make assumptions based on autonomic response." 

"You're right, of course. You're always right. That's one of the reasons I want you to fuck me. Just bend me right over and shove it in me. Way down deep and hard and fast until I can't see." 

"Ray --" 

"Or maybe you'd like to fuck my mouth? I talk too much, that's what my mom always said. You wanna fuck my smart mouth? Come down my throat? Show me what control tastes like?" 

Fraser's mouth tightened to a single stern line. The only thing keeping his position from being 'at attention' were the way his hands were so carefully not fisted at his sides. 

"Indecision can be a real painful thing there, Frase. Tell ya what, I'm gonna make it easy on ya." 

For the first time in several long, long minutes Fraser deigned to meet his gaze again. Raised one eyebrow into a perfect arch. Halfway between schoolteacher and cynical old whore and Ray wondered how the other man would respond to *that* description... 

"I will. See, I'm just gonna do what *I* want to do, and you can do whatever you want to do. Nobody ever said it had to be mutual, right?" 

The eyebrow remained raised for another few moments and then slowly, deliberately, Fraser brought himself to attention. Eyes front, jaw squared, shoulders ruler straight and erection exquisitely ignored. 

Ray allowed himself a moment to wonder who *could* have had Fraser tonight, and then allowed himself several more... Prick though he was, his body, his soul never got tired of the many ways Fraser could -- if he wanted -- be pleasured. 

And then he walked over to the first double bed, the one just to the right of where Fraser stood and not-stared, and took off his clothes. Boots, then suspenders, then jeans, then socks, then shirt, then t-shirt, then, slowly, boxer-briefs. It took a lot not to bend himself more toward the other man, but he managed. 

Before he forgot, he took the small tube out of his left front pocket and tossed it on the pillow he knew he wouldn't be using. Crawled up and then just relaxed on his knees for several breaths. 

Faced the wall, rested his palms on his thighs. Rolled his neck around and breathed some more. He was trying not to feel the weight of Fraser's gaze, because he knew it wasn't really there. 

But his cock was, right there. Hard, red idiot flesh, drooling and leaping for any caress at all. Pathetic. 

All his. 

Ray gave it a light slap, then another. Jerked at his own touch and mmmed. The room was cool, and he could feel the difference between abused and not-abused flesh immediately. He slapped it again, and the sound made him almost *need* to look around... Almost. 

He made a claw of his other hand and raked short nails over his nipple. Not as hard as it looked... Stella always used to freak out when he did stuff like this. Well, not the cock-slapping... her eyes used to glitter like a child's, like a bird's at something incomprehensible but so so shiny... Do it again, Ray... 

And he did. Once, twice, again, again, again, again and oh, God he was gasping every time now and he hadn't even remembered to listen for Fraser's reaction but fuck it *hurt* so much nothing like it and maybe... 

He looked down and saw himself hesitate. Pull the blow. He was even redder now, and dark spots dotted the gaudy blue-green-burgundy-uglier green coverlet where his pre-come had had the time to really soak in. 

He was sweating, he could smell himself. Harsh, but almost like what it would be at home. 

Ray licked his hands thoroughly. Not clean, but tasted all over. Sucked at his own wrists and wondered why he didn't do that more often. 

Bit one while stroking himself in what he liked to think of as his not-rhythm. Light-fast a few times, then slow, then harder, then faster, then lighter, then whatever he wanted least. Cruel cruel lover stroke. 

Bit harder and moaned into his own flesh. 

If Ray drew blood Fraser would stop him. Would call his name again and again and the blood would tickle his chin and finally, finally Fraser would have to touch him. 

Or maybe just call room service. 

Ray laughed and released his wrist, brought the hand down to fondle his balls. Wondered if the jagged oval of his teeth would bruise and tried to stop thinking long enough to really feel what he was doing. 

Which worked for about a second and a half. 

He was jerking himself off with his back to Fraser, his partner, who he had just unsuccessfully molested. 

Wasn't even looking at the guy. 

Acting like he was ashamed. 

Of himself. Ashamed of himself and performing even though... even though he wasn't really like this. Yeah. He was doing this because he couldn't... because he wasn't *allowed* to do anything else. He wasn't good enough to touch anything but his own flesh. 

He wasn't good enough, and if he couldn't do this right he would... he wouldn't get anything at all. The little warmth he was creating for himself would blow away and he'd sit here, awkward and hurting and so shamed. Worthless. 

And so damned hard. 

"Ohhh..." 

Ray flushed but didn't stop. Tugged on his tightening balls -- he couldn't make this too easy -- and ran his trigger callous over the pulsing vein along the underside of his cock. Twitched and moaned again, softer this time. 

And just like that he found himself *there*, in that groove he'd known for years and years. The closest thing he'd ever felt to it was his first ride on the Cyclone... visiting Uncle Mike way out East. Coney Island, just like the songs, only dirtier and shabbier and intoxicating as all hell. 

And the car had ratcheted and groaned its way up that old wooden track, jerking back every now and again, creaking alarmingly... but there was never any doubt it'd get where it was going, whether you wanted it to or not. 

There was never any doubt that he wanted it. 

Ray gave himself a few more teasing strokes and then released himself utterly. The groan took his throat too fast for him to flush again, and he bent nearly double at the surprisingly intense *loss* of it. 

When he could breathe, he slicked his right hand mechanically. Methodically. Real real careful and thorough. The lube was still warm from its time in his pocket -- warm enough, anyway -- and Ray didn't bother trying to warm it up anymore. 

Reached back and gave the sensitive flesh in his cleft one fast swipe. Felt his cock twitch and grinned and did it again and again. The first solid thrust of his hips cracked his back a little and all of a sudden he couldn't stop thrusting, even though the immediate need had lessened with familiarity. Just movement was enough, sometimes. 

The next time his teasing finger reached the tight ring of muscle he pushed himself back on it. Rough and just as shocking as he wanted it to be, almost, almost providing the ridiculous notion that he was tearing himself in two. 

When he could do that to his mind with just one finger it was a victory, and the prize was not to wait, not to prepare and oh *God* the next finger might really *have* torn something. 

On someone who didn't do this as often as he did. 

And he laughed again and gave himself a heartbeat to wonder, idly, what Fraser thought of the sound. Grinned to himself and for no one but himself as he arched himself backward a little. 

Just enough to make this easier. 

And then enough to make it hotter. 

An image of himself, stretched taut into a curve just this side of unnatural, mouth open, skin flushed, cock jutting and moving with his own movements as he fucked himself precisely the way he wanted to. 

Oh yeah. 

And finally there was nothing stopping him from taking hold of his cock again but the need to give each nipple one rough, awkward twist, to dip his finger into his navel and twist it into a hook of shockingly indescribable sensation. 

So he did, and he choked it. Thrust in and back and in and back until the lube started actually making a difference and then he did it faster. His fingers hurt a little from the way he was bearing down, but his cock didn't care and he didn't care and Fraser had to be watching and even if he wasn't watching he could hear this. Smell this. Probably feel each cresting wave of Ray's arousal slap him in the face again and again -- 

"Oh, God, please --" 

Ray came all over his hand and belly, a miniature geyser hot as blood and much thicker. Heavy cream pain dirty please please Fraser pain and he fell back, limber as he needed to be, ankles brushing the muscles of his back. 

Eyes closed. 

When he could, he rolled off the bed. Didn't bother to hide the shake in his tortured knees, didn't look all the way up until he was close enough to Fraser's stupidly gaping shirt to see the buttonholes as more than a blur. 

Watched what was, perhaps, the fifth or sixth tear roll down the other man's blankly noble face. The tracks were too even to be very old. 

Gathered two fingers-full of come from his belly and wiped it slowly, deliberately over the rose-red mouth. Licked it off with one swipe. 

Some of it. 

And then Ray scooped up his clothes and walked slowly, evenly through the connecting doors into his own room, and did not wait for anything. 

end. 

So yeah, this is my answer to my Mastfic challenge. Tell me how wrong I am: 


End file.
